500 days
by peachringsandbananas
Summary: Counting down the days as Sherlock falls in love with John


**500 days before**

To my surprise, I have in fact found a flat mate. I was, of course, quite willing to live on my own, but seeing as the possibility has arisen, I see no problems in sharing the space with another. The man seemed at least tolerant of my behaviors, still there's no telling how long he'll actually last. No problem though, I would much rather be alone.

**493 days before**

He's still here, oddly. I had expected him to leave at the fingers bit. No matter, it shouldn't be long now.

**490 days before**

John Watson. That's his name. Considering I haven't yet told you, I thought I probably should. He enjoys telling me these… trivial stories. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't tolerate such childish behavior, but I bear it if only for the sake of the flat agreement. He doesn't seem to be too keen on leaving. I believe he'll be around for quite some time.

**485 days before**

He keeps calling me "brilliant" and "amazing". I believe it to be some sort of reverse psychology of some sort, attempting to quiet my brilliance. He claims it's his natural reaction to say such things after watching me work, and I can't say it doesn't seem as such. Perhaps he's been hired to come and spy on me closer than Mycroft or really any of the others have ever come before. Or he could just be being sincere, although I wouldn't believe it if the Queen herself told me it was such.

**463 days before**

John has proven to be far more useful than I initially thought. More on this later, I have another case to attend to.

**400 days before**

It seems I was gone for longer than expected. Moriarty, yet again, although that isn't what I want to speak about at the moment. I want to talk about John Watson. Not just speak about him, I want to analyze him. I have never met someone so unbearably simple in so many ways, yet a complex mystery to me. Or perhaps I'm the problem. I doubt that's it. He must be drugging my drinks or slipping something into my food, because every time I happen to see him about the flat, my head starts… spinning. Not in the normal way it does when you're feeling ill, but as if I myself have gotten up and begun twirling about the room. In addition to that, there's a strange tightening of my stomach, yet not a gag reflex or anything of the like. I don't bother go to a physician to speak on the subject, if it was something diagnosable about it, I myself would be plenty able to figure it out. I suppose I'll just wait until I've gathered more data.

**372 days before**

Further data suggests symptoms increase over time, and with closer proximity. Nothing leads to any sort of diagnosis yet, so I wait. I've become even more worried on the matter though, considering the unknown disease seems to have reached its height this morning. John woke me up with his constant chatter as he does on a regular basis, yet today he clutched my hand to raise me from my place on the couch and my pulse increased to a considerably high pace and my face became flushed. I'll continue to search for an answer.

**369 days before**

According to the internet, all symptoms suggest I'm, as they put it, "in love". This is completely impossible, especially since they suggest subject of my affections is none other than John. Honestly, for anyone to believe Sherlock Holmes was possible of such disgustingly human emotion… Well, they may be even crazier than people believe me to be.

**367 days before**

I took the day to observe John's behavior. Data is as follows:

When nervous, he immediately begins tapping his fingers against his leg

When faced with decisions, he always chooses the option that will be most beneficial to others, rather than himself

If you watch him long enough without his knowing, his eyes revert to sadness

His eyes often tend to follow myself around the room, when he believes I've stopped looking- note: eyes seem transfixed, rather than just lazily following the only moving object because of boredom

Refuses to make eye contact

When placed on a table, his hands inch in my general direction, seemingly without his knowledge

Conclusion- John Watson is illustrating not only the signs of basic attraction, but a deep romantic bond as well, leading me to believe he is in love

Second conclusion- He is wrong and it cannot possibly be with me

Third conclusion- I may be in love with John Watson

**365 days before**

I don't have much time to explain. I have to go. Everyone believes me to be dead. Soon I truly may be. I'll be back in one year, if at all.

**182 days before**

I am in love with John Watson.

**61 days before**

I am in love with John Watson, and he will never know.

**30 days before**

I think I may die. But I haven't told John Watson I love him.

**15 days before **

I haven't died. I am still in love with John Watson.

**7 days before**

Just a bit longer until I can tell him.

**3 days before**

I love you, John Watson.

The flat was cold, the heater having broken long ago. The windows were already frosted over with the December snow, a mundane smile drawn into one- probably from some child walking by with their parents out to enjoy the weather. Yet all John did was shuffle across the old worn floors, slippered feet barely making a noise besides a quiet creak. It had been exactly one year since he had last seen Sherlock fall from that building, covered in blood, eyes that once transfixed him now lifeless. Every month that passed things seemed to grow quieter. Closer to how they were in a world before he even knew the name "Sherlock Holmes". And he couldn't complain. Forgetting would be good for him. If only he could forget. Still, he was getting better. Before he had seen ghosts of the man, caressing his arm as he passed or leaning over to whisper things only meant for him in his ears, paying the violin for him as he drifted to sleep. For a while, he thought the ghost was a blessing. Keeping him sane, when really, it only helped in pushing him deeper into insanity. He hadn't seen one in months. He thought he had gotten better. Until one came knocking at the door.

He stood at the sound of a gentle hand tapping at the wood, rushing over the window to solidify his beliefs, yet all that sat on the porch step was a notebook. He hurried over to the door anyways, picking up the leather bound book that was all too familiar in his shaking hands. The pages were tearing at the corners, looking as if they had been flipped through hundreds of times prior to ever reaching his hands. He opened the book up, eyes scanning the scribbled words. "John Watson" "I love you" "I am in love with John Watson"

Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" He stepped out onto the porch, snow falling into his shoes and chilling his feet, sending shivers down his spine. His eyes flickered around, searching for that long coat, yet all he saw was a lone man in the road, an umbrella held high above his head.

"John… I'm sorry, Sherlock passed away last night."

"No, he hasn't, he just brought me this notebook…"

"I did, John. He wanted you to have it.."

**1 day after**

I am in love with Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
